


Suddenly

by NixxieFic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, New Relationship, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixxieFic/pseuds/NixxieFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How would it go if suddenly, brilliantly, Lestrade finds out that promising to smack Sherlock's lovely backside is the best incentive to keep him clean. It's a win-win situation!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock stood up and, with embarrassingly fumbling fingers, pulled his trousers back up and re-did his belt.

"Are you going to do that again?" he asked, words huffed out as if they were meaningless.

"Only if you behave," Lestrade answered. "Only if you stay clean."

"Oh..." Sherlock's mouth turned into a heavenly 'O' shape, his bottom lip red from where he'd bitten down every time Lestrade's broad palm had connected with his naked bottom. "How often?" His words sounded way more desperate than he'd ever let Lestrade hear before.

Greg stood up, crowding into Sherlock's personal space until they were almost lip to lip. "End of each week... if you make it." Lestrade's mouth curled up on one side. He knew just how hard Sherlock would try to make it to next Sunday evening. "Every time you fail me, the countdown starts again from the next Monday morning. ...I'm pretty sure that should be enough of an... incentive." He shrugged back into his suit jacket, letting his eyes trail up Sherlock's body, eyes taking in the impressive hard-on that he'd felt pressing against his thigh from smack 4 onwards.

"I'll try... I'll behave." Sherlock’s skin was bright red, flushed from his cheeks downwards, just disappearing under his undone shirt collar.

"I Promise, uhh ...Master?"

"No, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a huge inward breath through his nose, the red blush blanched slightly. Eyes locked with Lestrade's as Sherlock raised his head suddenly.

"You haven't earned the right to call me that. ...Not yet." Lestrade’s eyes searched Sherlock's face, looking for any sign that this... this would finally get the young man clean - give him the incentive he really needed. Something he obviously craved, but had never been able to do on willpower alone. "You may call me Sir, for now, when we're alone like this. And if you're really, really good, Sherlock, you'll get to feel more than the flat of my hand next time." He promised, his right hand cupping Sherlock's bulge, only now fading slightly, and squeezed.

Greg stepped quickly back out of Sherlock's comfort zone, grabbing his mackintosh from the coat hook, putting it over his arm and pulling open the bedsit's front door. "Don't turn up at any crime scenes before I call you. I'm already looking forwards to next Sunday night."

And with that he walked through the door as steadily as his feet could allow and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Suddenly discovering that tempting Sherlock to go clean by promising to smack his beautiful backside every Sunday night, so long as he stays clean and behaves himself, Sherlock has made it through to Friday afternoon.

The smacking sound, as Lestrade clapped his hands together in front of his team to signal that this briefing was over, had the desired effect on the seated colleagues before him. They all stood up hurriedly, breaking off into their nominated teams before making their way quickly out of the briefing room to get ready for the raid.

It had quite a different effect on the slightly peaky-looking man who stood looking out of the windows - for all intents and purposes paying as much attention to what was going on in the room behind him as usual, that is to say very little at all - however Lestrade knew very different.

He looked up and smirked as he packed the last of the files into his case, ready to drop off into his office on his way out. Yes... he had thought that might just get Sherlock's attention, the sound so very, very like the crack of his palm against Sherlock's bottom 5 days ago. It was Friday afternoon. Sherlock had to remain on good behaviour and drug free only until Sunday night and he'd get what Lestrade had promised him. His backside red and rosy... and Lestrade had promised something more, besides.  
It was that thought that rang through Sherlock's head as Lestrade had smacked his hands together, and the rosy peaks high on his cheekbones were the only visible thing that showed Lestrade he'd noticed. But it was more than enough, and Greg couldn't stifle his grin.

Sherlock kept his lips firmly together as Lestrade moved to stand behind his left shoulder, only a smidge too close for decency.

"Yes. I thought you'd like that, Sherlock," Lestrade admitted, his chin high as he looked out at the city of London. "Little reminder." He looked quickly around the room, double-checking that it was entirely empty and that no one was peeking through the glass in the door. "You have been so very good," he said roughly, crowding into Sherlock's space just a tad more, his left hand coming to a stop on Sherlock's left thigh, pushing downwards before stopping to clench just slightly into the fabric. His chin resting atop Sherlock's shoulder "Such a good Boy for me."

Sherlock's cheeks reddened even more and his eyes clenched shut, though the rest of his face stayed immobile. That was the first time Lestrade... Sir, had called him that. He breathed in shakily though his nose, eyes still shut, knowing that if he did try to say anything his voice would utterly betray him.

 

He had been good, so very good. All through the shaky evening on Monday, the fevered nightmare of Tuesday night, alternately clutching the blanket on Lestrade's sofa to his body and pushing it off as his temperature spiked, the drugs letting him know in the crassest of ways that they didn't want him to clean his act up. Lestrade had been so good, pushing a water glass to his lips before he could ask for it, wet flannels softly pressed all over his exposed skin finally taking his temperature down and even. He'd thought that Lestrade would go ballistic when he found the ashen faced Sherlock huddled up by the front door to his flat - instead he'd pulled him up towards his body and shuffled the shaken boy indoors, looking up what to do with someone coming off heroin on his phone as he sat beside Sherlock on the sofa. Hardly sleeping himself to get the boy through the night - despite the fact that he had to work a full day afterwards.

When Greg came home to his flat at 6 p.m. he'd hoped to find Sherlock still there, possibly even sleeping properly. He felt saddened when he called out and got no reply, the quick search of his flat fruitless. But then he noticed the folded blankets on his sofa, and the shakily scribbled note atop them, giving Lestrade his thanks, and that a friend in the same block of his bedsit was going to keep an eye on him the next few days.

Greg had been quite surprised to see a suited and relatively decent looking Sherlock waiting in the meeting room at the beginning of the raid briefing - how Sherlock knew which room to go to, or even that anything was taking place, goodness only knew! He raised his chin in a quick enquiry, Sherlock nodded in reply that he was all right, Donovan scowling as she walked in and loudly clattered a chair about before dropping into it in a near perfect duplication of a Sherlock in a huff.

 

Lestrade's thumb rubbed up into the crease of Sherlock's hip & thigh, not needing to look down to know that the trousers were tented beautifully. "You can come to the raid, Sherlock. But in a taxi following us, and you will not step a foot past the police lines until and _if_ I say so. Yes?"

"Yes Sir," Sherlock said quietly, his head turned, his slightly opened lips close to Greg's nose. "I'll make it. I will," he promised, his eyes finally opening to look into Greg’s. To show Lestrade that he really meant it. He was going to make it to Sunday night without fucking up. He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With great thanks to archea2 for the beta & reminding me to actually post it!! (I have the memory of a flea, I swear!)

**Author's Note:**

> With great thanks to archea2 for the beta.


End file.
